Your erotic stories

Sitting in my English class reading stories from Henry David Thoreau, I kept thinking about plans to runaway from the world that never understood me. I must have been interested with my own mind because I had not heard Mr. Peterson ask me a question. I looked up to see everyone's eyes staring at me. Mr. Peterson was leaning on his desk, crossing his arms while unconsciously showing off each muscle that tightened around his white shirt.

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I can smell the ocean coming in through the sliding door. A cool breeze blows up from the water, a sigh of relief for my hot skin. Raising a glass to my lips I drink deeply, eyes locked in you sitting within a halo of candlelight. Over dinner we discussed the coming evening, your expectations, my requirements. Thinking of this a slow flush comes to my cheeks and a smile to my lips. You capture this look and reflect it back and I can no longer hide behind my wineglass.

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